


What's Up, Doc?

by Knightfalling_for_you



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Lee doesn't know Nygma framed Gordon yet, Spoilers for Season 2, Violence towards tomatoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightfalling_for_you/pseuds/Knightfalling_for_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed runs into someone unexpected while grocery shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Up, Doc?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Ed liked going to the farmer’s market. It wasn’t just because he liked to use the fresh ingredients to cook, either. There was just something . . . exciting about it. No matter how many times he came, there was always some new food or homemade oddity to study. Fresh pomegranates one week, instruments made of gourds the next. Sometimes Ed even showed up without a list at all, and would come up with his meals for the next week based on what he found. It was a fun game, seeing how he could make something from little to nothing. 

This time, he had a list with him—yellow onions, garlic, tomatoes, and bay leaves. There was a new recipe he was going to tackle. The instructions looked a little tricky, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The bigger worry was making sure no one paid too much attention to him—nothing like getting sent back to Arkham to ruin grocery shopping.

Ed picked up a blood red tomato, squeezing it. It was too tough, which meant it wasn’t ripe yet. He grabbed another, resisting the urge to point the problem out to the owner. _This is supposed to be fresh produce, damn it._ This time, he squeezed the fruit too hard out of frustration, and it was crushed, splattering all over his hand and the front of his suit. The farmer running the booth glared at him like he’d done it on purpose.

“It’s not my fault,” Ed said, throwing the remains of the tomato to the ground. “It was too soft, overripe. It would’ve started to rot soon anyhow.”

“You’re going to pay for that,” the farmer growled. Ed glared at him. Why should he pay when the product was obviously flawed? A part of him was tempted to retaliate with violence, despite the pettiness of the situation.

“I’ll get it,” a familiar voice said behind him. Ed whirled around, only to see Lee, her thick ebony hair twisted into a braid. He gulped, moving backwards. Not good, so not good. Of all the people he didn’t want to run into, the mother of the miscarried child of the man he framed for murder ranked pretty high. Second only to Gordon himself—well, maybe third or fourth counting Bullock and Strange.

But still, pretty high on the list, even if she didn’t carry a gun.

“D-doctor Tompkins?” he asked frantically. “I can explain.”

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” she said casually, slipping a few dollars to the man behind the counter. He nodded at her, then went back to glaring at Ed. “That happens to me all the time.”

“Huh,” he replied with a shaky laugh. Why was she acting so normal? “So. You’re back in town.”

“Yes. I know it’s been a while.” She passed him a few napkins. “You’d better get that off your suit soon, if you don’t want it to stain.”

“Right,” Ed responded, dabbing at the fabric. “So . . . have you talked to Detective Gordon recently?”

“No,” Lee said softly, looking at the ground. “I mean, I know he cleared his name, but it’s . . . complicated. I needed space.”

Ed resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t know. By some miracle, she didn’t know what he’d done—for now, at least. He could always find another farmer’s market in order to avoid her once she found out. But today, all he had to do was make small talk until they parted ways. Surely he could do that. _Or maybe . . ._ a voice in his head whispered. _We could do something else, have a little fun._

“I understand,” he replied, as they walked away from the tomato booth. “Sometimesthe people we care about aren’t always good for us.”

Lee stared at him for a second, as if he’d just grown gills or something. “That is so profound.”

Ed chuckled quietly under his breath. _Yeah, take it from someone who knows._ “I try. So, where are you working now?”

“A children’s hospital. It’s not always as interesting, but it’s certainly less morbid.”

“I’d imagine so.”

“You’re still working at the GCPD, right?” she asked off-handedly.

Ed considered his response for a second. Well, a lie with a bit of truth couldn’t really hurt anything at this point. In fact, giving half-truths was a little bit like telling riddles—all it took to unravel them was someone clever enough.

“No, actually.”

“You weren’t fired, were you?” Ed had to bite his tongue and stop himself from glaring at her—or from pulling out his knife that second. _She’s so close, and it would be so easy_. That _would_ be what she assumed, wouldn’t it? That he was incompetent or out of line? She might say she was his friend, just like Jim, but did she actually believe in him? 

Of course not. Few people really did.

“No. Personal choice, honestly. I’m tired of working for people who don’t appreciate what I do.”

“That’s not true!” Lee protested. And he might’ve believed her, if was still the same naive Edward Nygma who thought people would care about his riddles and discoveries, the same Ed who thought Gordon was his friend, and Kristen Kringle would see him as more than a freak.

If that Ed hadn’t died alone with her.

“Jim appreciated you, and so did I,” she insisted vehemently. “You were always able to spot things we couldn’t.”

Ed couldn’t help but let out a scoff. _Of course I was, but no one cared._ “Right.”

“Did something happen?” she asked, staring at him. 

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Do you need help finding a job? I’m sure I could help—”

“That’s not necessary,” he snapped. This time it was Lee who took a step backwards. _Calm down, don’t lose it. Not right now._ “I mean, I appreciate it, Dr. Thompkins. But I’ve already got one.”

“That’s great. What is it?”

“It’s . . . it’s kind of odds and ends. Sometimes I do a little research, sometimes I run errands or solve problems—you know, just whatever’s needed.”

“Who do you work for?” 

_Damn it, woman. Can’t you stop asking questions and just leave me alone?_

“A, uh, friend of mine. He runs a local business, and he’s worried about a rival trying to take it over, so he needs all the help he can get.” _Still not technically a lie._

“Then it’s good he has friends like you,” Lee said with a smile. She glanced over at the bags of groceries at his side. “Is it a restaurant business?”  
“No. It’s just my turn to make dinner tonight . . . for my, uh, roommates.” _Aka Penguin and that oaf that passes for his right hand man._

“What do you have planned? I remember, Kristen said—” She stopped abruptly at that, catching herself. “I heard you’re a good cook.”

“It’s a friend’s recipe for goulash,” he explained, as if he hadn’t heard _her_ name. “His mother used to make it for him . . . and she’s gone now, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“That’s so thoughtful!” Lee said with another smile. It confused Ed sometimes, how nice she was to him and just about anyone else, for that matter. Surely she couldn’t be really sincere, could she? _Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter._ “It was . . . interesting talking to you, Ed. I hope you’re enjoying your new job.”

He grinned, for once not faking it. “I am. It’s exciting.”

“As exciting as police work?” she asked skeptically.

“You’d be surprised. But the same to you—about your job, I mean.”

“Thanks.” And then Lee reached up gave him a hug. It caught him off guard, but he decided it would be best just to reciprocate it. And besides—she still smelled nice, like fresh peppermint and soapy shampoo. _Some things don’t change._ “You’re a good friend, Ed. Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”

“Maybe,” he lied, still hugging her. Then he glanced over at her. “Dr. Thompkins?”

“Ed, please. Call me Lee.”

“Right. I just . . . I just wanted to say that I—” Ed stopped himself, faking a smile. “Do you want to hear a riddle?”

“Sure.”

“‘From where is it easiest to stab someone in the back, Dr. Thompkins?’”

Lee looked up at him, confused. “Where?”

He smirked, slipping a knife out of his pocket and thrusting it under her overcoat and deep into her skin.

“From their side.”


End file.
